Jan 30, 2012

There'll Be Days Like This

I can hear her in the next room, whining.  She has been up twice already and I am mad.  It has been days of tears, frustration, anger.  I am worried.  And mad.

I am lying in the bed and I pray. Please give me patience.  Please give me patience.  Please give me patience.  I try to leave out the What is wrong with me?s and the I am a horrible mother!s.  Just, give me patience.

This is not fair.  I think.  I need my sleep.  I need my rest.  I need a break.  But then I realize (again), it's not about me.  It's not about what I think I need or what I want.  My needs come second.

So I try to let go.  Please give me patience.

But my eyes are tight, my body tense, so I look.  I see my empty and drained body, filling up.  The blue liquid starts at my toes and reaches my head, but I am not drowning.  It is patience, being poured into my emptiness, and when it fills me up it turns a golden hue of hope.

In the morning, I wake up with a different feeling.  I am not refreshed, but I am not mad either.  I take a few deep breaths and jump into the day, giving the girls extra hugs, kisses, and smiles.  Trying to be the patient mother I know I can be.

This is what I want every day.  A full tank.  To give the girls.

To be remembered for the hugs, the kisses, the love (whether it is tough or not).  The good days.  And not the bad.

I close my eyes that night knowing the patience was not of my own doing.  Thank you.


  1. Those hard days are really hard, aren't they? (Maybe it makes the good days seem even better.)


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